


If you could only see (the beast you made of me)

by ElixirBB



Series: Wolf land [3]
Category: Sicario (2015)
Genre: Anger, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Mentions of Violence, Oral Sex, Possessiveness, Rough Sex, Sex, Wall Sex, emotions are all over the place, generally an unhealthy relationship, heed the warnings, mentions of killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElixirBB/pseuds/ElixirBB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She, Kate Macer, went up against the Alpha Wolf and survived. </p>
<p>(There is a special spot reserved in the deepest pit of hell for people like them.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you could only see (the beast you made of me)

**Author's Note:**

> Final part of the wolf land series! Title is from Florence and the Machine's song Howl. I hope you guys liked this one! Heed the warnings though on this one! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!

The moment her approval for vacation comes through, Kate books a ticket to Buffalo. She’s dressed in loose sweatpants and a sweater that is two sizes too big on her and she curls into a ball on her seat in the plane, forehead against the window, staring outside as Arizona becomes smaller and smaller until all she can see is the blue sky.

 

She doesn’t go to sleep, finds that she _can’t_ because whenever she does, all she sees is _Juarez_ and _Alejandro_. She can’t get him off her mind, even if she tries.

 

(The terrifying part is that she doesn’t know if she _wants_ to.) 

* * *

 

Her mother yanks the door open before Kate has finished paying her cab driver. She can see her mother run down the concrete steps in her robe and she stops just a foot in front of Kate.

 

“Oh, Katie.” She murmurs, her eyes taking her in and behind her, Kate can see her father, eyebrows frowning as he takes in the scene before him.

 

Kate knows she looks a mess. She has bags underneath her eyes, she’s lost weight, and it’s not like she needs to lose anymore. She wonders if her eyes look as dead as she feels.

 

“Hi mom.” She says meekly, shrugging her shoulders and dropping her duffle bag on the sidewalk. “ _Surprise_.”

 

Her mother pulls her into a hug and Kate hugs her back tightly, breathing in her familiar scent.

 

Her father leaves the door and grabs her bag. “Couldn’t get enough of us the first time, yeah, Katie? I’ll put this in your room, okay?”

 

“Thanks dad.”

 

Her mom ushers her into the house and Kate breathes in, trying to find some semblance of meaning in the chaos that has become her life.

* * *

She’s curled up on the sofa, a cup of tea in front of her and she watches as the steam escapes from the top, little shapes disappearing in the air. She can see the condensation on the cup and she can smell the mint from the tea. Her mother is staring at her from over the rim of her cup.

 

“Katie,” her mother starts, placing the cup in front of her. “Tell me what happened.”

 

Kate blinks away the stinging tears in her eyes. “I can’t.” She tells her. It’s not that she doesn’t _want_ to; it’s just that she _can’t_. She buries her head in the cushion and lets her tears soak it. She feels so helpless, so defenseless, drowning all by herself with no buoy for help.

 

She can hear her mother shuffle and she can feel the couch shift and her mother’s hand rubs circles on her back in a soothing circular motion that takes Kate back to when she was kid and always sick and the nights her parents would trade-off, telling her stories and soothing her. “It’s okay, Katie. It’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s over, it’s _okay_.”

 

_Except it’s not,_ Kate wants to tell her, _it’ll never be okay._

* * *

Her father is watching golf when she brings him a beer and sits next to him on the couch. He looks up at her with twinkling eyes that are covered with worry for her. “You good, Katie?”

 

She scrunches her nose and nods, exhausted by the constant barrage of _are you okay’s_ and _everything will be fine’s_. She can hear her mother in the kitchen, preparing food that she’s determined to send back with Kate to Arizona. She almost cried when she saw the extent of Kate’s weight-loss. “I’ll be fine. Just stress, you know?”

 

It’s not a complete lie. She _is_ stressed.

 

Her father nods and points a finger in her direction. “You should watch out for that. It’ll kill you one day.”

 

She’s not too worried about _stress_ being the thing to finally _kill her_.

 

She nods to the television. “I didn’t know you watched golf.”

 

He snorts into his beer. “I don’t. If I pretend to watch something, your mother doesn’t make me attempt to cook with her. We always end up in an argument and I don’t fancy being near her and knives when she’s angry. Your mother, Katie, I love her, I really do, but that woman can be so damned crazy sometimes.”

 

“ _I heard that_!” Her mother yells from the kitchen. “And _just_ for that you can come in here and peel these damned potatoes.”

 

Her father groans but gets up, his knees creaking. “And what’s Katie going to do?”

 

Her mother slams a cupboard. “Your _daughter_ is visiting. I am not going to make her work. Get your lazy ass off that couch watching a sport I _know_ you _hate_. _Unbelievable_. She’s your only child and you want to put her to work?!”

 

“It’s peeling potatoes!”

 

“She’s hopeless in the kitchen!”

 

“So am I!”

 

“If you don’t stop complaining, so help me God, I will-”

 

“Can you please get that knife away from me? I swear, if you could, you would have killed me years ago. You know, your daughter has connections. She’d protect me.”

 

“ _I_ carried her for nine months. _I_ gave birth to her. If she’s protecting anyone, it’s going to be _me_. So, you, sir, are _shit out of luck._ Peel the fucking potatoes and stop arguing.”

 

There is a pause. “Yes ma’am.”

 

For the first time in a long time, Kate laughs. 

* * *

 

A couple of days before she’s scheduled to leave, she decides to go for a run. So, she plugs her earphones into her iPhone, presses play and hits the pavement running. She doesn’t pay attention to the people she passes. She doesn’t pay attention to anything other than the concrete under her sneakers and the music in her ears.

 

She doesn’t stop until she gets to the park she always went to when she was a kid. It’s oddly empty, she notices, as she leans against a tree and breathes heavily, chest rising and falling, trying to find a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s caught in her lungs. Then she realizes that it’s a weekday and kids have just come home from school and parents are on their way from work and dinner is probably being served and it’s only _Kate_ who loses track of time and space and _everything_.

 

She makes her way, on trembling legs, to the merry-go-round and sits down, kicking the ground with her feet. She sits with her legs crossed when it gains enough momentum and she watches as the world circles around her.

 

“Katie?” There’s a hesitant voice to her left and she brings one of her legs down, her foot skidding against the sand as she stops it.

 

When she’s finally able to get her bearings, she sees a man in front of her in a well-pressed suit and a brief case in his right hand. His hair is blonde, his eyes brown and she knows that he has dimples when he smiles. His eyes twinkle when he’s amused and his hands clench into fists when he’s trying to restrain his anger and frustration. Anger and frustration, she notes, always seemed to be front and center in the latter years of their dissolving marriage.

 

“Tom.” She says with no malice. She doesn’t blame her ex-husband, bears him no ill-will. She understands _why_ he wanted a divorce and she felt it coming a mile away.

 

(“Is there another woman?” It’s the first thing that comes out of her mouth when he tells her he wants a divorce. She doesn’t know why it’s so instinctive. Maybe it’s because she knows they haven’t had sex in almost six months. Maybe, it’s because she felt him pushing her away and maybe it’s because she was pushing him away long before that.

 

He looks at her with wounded eyes. “There’s no other woman, Kate. It’s just…it’s…” He scrambles for words and she understands what he wants to say but _can’t_.

 

“It’s me.” She says numbly.

 

“It’s your job.” He corrects. “It’ll kill you one day, Katie and I don’t want to watch you die. I can’t.”

 

It’s an amicable divorce and they part ways, his lips on her forehead and she watches him board a plane back to Buffalo, where everything always started and ended for them.)

 

“What are you doing back here?” He asks.

 

She shrugs. “Vacation.”

 

He arches an eyebrow. “To Buffalo?”

 

“I tried Cuba last time.” She offers, giving him a small smile. “I got burnt.”

 

He laughs and it’s exactly like she remembers it. “You should tell me about it.” He gestures down the street. “Want to grab a slice of pizza and a beer? We can catch up.”

 

She blinks and shrugs, because it’s _Tom_. It’s her ex-husband and she’s his ex-wife but they’ve known each other for _so long._

 

( _It’s just pizza and beer_ , she thinks, _between two long-lost friends_.) 

* * *

 

She should have realized that it’s never _just_ pizza and beer between them because as soon as they finish their pizza and have guzzled back enough beer to have a nice little buzz going, they walk to his condo, voices echoing into the night. They can still walk in a straight line, despite their buzz but he fumbles with his keys when they get to his door.

 

She hasn’t been sleeping properly, terrified that if she does sleep, she’ll wake up screaming and the last thing she wants to do is scare her parents even more than they already are, so she stays awake, staring at the ceiling of her childhood room and thinks about anything and everything except for the important things. So, she blames what she does next on lack of sleep and alcohol. She kisses him. Presses a kiss on the corner of his lips and he _smells_ the same. His face is clean-shaven and she compares the bare skin to the wiry hair on Alejandro’s face. Tom smells familiar but Alejandro’s cologne intoxicates her.

 

Tom drops his briefcase and presses her against the door, gently and kisses her on the lips. “Missed you.” He mumbles, hands grazing her sides.

 

She doesn’t say anything, instead, pressing her lips against his and pressing herself against him, desperate to get another man’s face out of her head and thoughts.

 

He finally manages to get the key in the lock and they stumble into his condo, clothes flying everywhere. They don’t make it to his bedroom, instead, he pulls her on the couch, covering her body with his and he’s gentle, _so_ gentle and exactly like she remembers him being and she wants to cry in frustration, because she doesn’t _want_ gentle. She doesn’t _need_ gentle.

 

When Tom’s hips stutter, she still isn’t close to her orgasm but she fakes it anyways, biting her lip in aggravation.

 

She’s pulling on her clothes, the damp sweat making her shiver and he watches her with knowing eyes.

 

“Who is he?” He asks. There is no accusation in his voice and she thinks _this_ is why she likes Tom so much. They don’t need to have the awkward talk afterwards. Everything is how it always was. He knows that nothing more will come out of her and him, that nothing _can_ come out of her and him because she’s broken beyond repair and he deserves better than her.

 

She doesn’t pause in putting on her clothes, because she knows if she does, he’ll notice it and call her out on it.

 

( _Who_ is Alejandro? _El Medellín?_ _El Sicario?_ She doesn’t know. She can’t even begin to explain him.)

 

“No one.” She tells him, her throat closing up and her heart thumping against her ribcage. It was all a figment of her imagination and she almost wants to laugh because there was _no_ imagination to begin with. There was _nothing_ there except for Kate forming some sort of sick and twisted fascination to a man who could and likely _would_ kill her in her sleep. She doesn’t know why this makes her sadder than it should. “There’s no one.”

 

Tom lets out a laugh and leans back against his couch. “You’re still a horrible liar.”

 

She doesn’t say anything and he leans forward, catching her hand in his. “Your eyes.” He murmurs.

 

She cocks an eyebrow and attempts to give him a half smile. “What? _You could get lost in them_?”

 

He shakes his head. “They’re dead.” He tells her bluntly. (Tom is a bit like Alejandro this way, telling her a truth that no one else does.) “They finally did it, huh? The job’s killed you.”

 

She yanks her sneakers on and heads to the door. She lets it slam behind her, only feeling slightly guilty for walking out on him. But she knows Tom. She knows that he won’t take it to heart because she’s not like him; she’s not like other women. She doesn’t feel how other people feel. She’s wired differently and if she’s dead inside, then there’s no coming back from it.

 

(As soon as she leaves his condo, she’s on the phone with her travel agent, booking an earlier flight than expected.)

* * *

Her mother weeps and her father puts a hand on her shoulders, not saying anything.

 

“I gotta go, mom.” Kate says into her mother’s shoulder.

 

“You call as soon as you land, okay?” She puts a hand on Kate’s cheek and gives her a watery smile. “I know we don’t say it enough, but we’re _so_ proud of you, Katie. We’re so proud of you.”

 

_You shouldn’t be_ , Kate thinks, _I’d only disappoint you_.

 

“Take care of yourself, kiddo.” Her dad says, his voice rough as he kisses her on the forehead.

 

She nods and turns away from them, ignoring the way her eyes burn. 

* * *

 

She settles back into Sedona nicely.

 

She still answers calls for lost cats and bar fights. She still doesn’t go out with guys her female colleagues try to set her up with. Reggie still messages everyday, calls every Wednesday and makes the trip up to see her every Friday.

 

It’s terrifying how everything can fall right back into place. It’s terrifying how it feels like nothing changed.

 

(It’s terrifying, how in one night, every thing suddenly _does.)_  

* * *

 

She falls asleep with the taste of a beer, half eaten pizza and mint toothpaste in her mouth.

 

She doesn’t know what wakes her, just that something does. She fumbles with her phone, checking the time and it’s only been an hour and some since she accidently fell asleep (she still doesn’t sleep much and when she does, it’s because of the sleeping pills her doctor prescribed her.) She gets out of bed, her bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. Her window is open, because Sedona is getting hot again and she’s back to sleeping in a t-shirt.

 

It happens all at once. She hears a howl, the floor creaks in her apartment and she’s out of bed, hand fumbling for the bedside drawer where she put her gun earlier, when suddenly a body is pressed against hers, pressing her face first against her bedroom wall.

 

She lets out a loud curse and she struggles against him, his familiar cologne invading her senses and she wants to _cry_ because he smells exactly how she remembers him and she can almost remember the way he felt pressed against her in her dream. His arms trap her, bracing themselves on either side of her head and he presses his body against hers, until she turns her head, cheek to the wall and chest pressed against it as well. She can hear and feel his breath in her ear and it’s like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. She wants to be so angry with him. She wants to claw at his arms and shriek in his face, but she _can’t_ because she can feel herself drowning in him.

 

She can feel one of his legs spread hers apart and then suddenly, he’s _there,_ leg trapped between hers and she almost collapses against him and against the feel of his pants material against her bare legs. His hands fall to her side, scrunching up the hem of her shirt bit by bit until his fingers trace the sides of her panties. He places his hands on her hips, his thumbs making little circles on her skin.

 

It’s electric, sending little shocks and shivers up and down her body.

 

(It’s torture.)

 

“What are you doing?” She asks it in a broken whisper, torn between a moan and a question.

 

He’s quiet and she feels the weight of his head on her shoulder and the soft, almost non-existent, press of his lips against her exposed shoulder and neck. “What do you want me to do?”

 

_Don’t stop_ , is what automatically comes to mind. And then _stop_. And then _more_. And then _get away from me_. There is such a contradiction in her head right, it’s making it hurt. His hands leave her hips and crawl underneath her shirt until they reach her breasts and he cups them. She gasps, arching her back, letting her head fall onto his shoulder, her sudden arching pushes her breasts into his hands even more.

 

_He has calluses on his hands,_ she thinks wildly and suddenly she has an image long buried from her dream and it’s vivid behind her eyelids. She gasps when his fingers tweak her nipples and she bites her lip, swallowing back a moan.

 

(This is both everything and nothing she wanted and she doesn’t know whether to give in or push him away.)

 

She’s turned around so suddenly, she thinks she has vertigo for a moment, until his hands leave her breasts and are firmly placed on her hips again, pushing her back against the wall. She’s breathing heavily and she almost wants to hit him because he looks so clam, so collected when she’s ready to fall apart in his hands.

 

“What do you want, Kate?”

 

_What does she want?_ She wants to laugh. She wants to cry. She wants to rail against him, slamming her fists against his chest until bruises form. She wants to kiss him until she can’t breathe. Most terrifyingly, is that she wishes she killed him when she had the chance. She should push him away. She realizes what he’s doing. He’s giving her an out. He’s giving her one last chance from his intrusion on her life.

 

Except, Kate was never a smart person. So, instead of pushing him away and out of her life, she pulls him closer to her and slams her lips onto his, until they’re fighting for a dominance that he seems to win. He wraps his arms around her waist, twisting her around until he pushes her onto her unmade bed.

 

It’s a blur from there. Clothes are tossed on the floor, her t-shirt is discarded quickly, his shirt follows, then his pants and it’s such a _hurry_ to get naked, to feel his skin on hers, to feel something _real_. To reconcile the murderer with the supposed lover. Except, they’re not _really_ lovers, are they? It’s a one-time thing. It _has_ to be a one-time thing.

 

(The way he grips her hips and the way he runs his hands reverently up and down her body, as if worshipping her silently, tells her that this will _not_ be a one-time thing.)

 

She likes the feel of his beard against her body. It’s rough and it leaves a trail of red burn marks across her body as he goes down and down and down, until she’s gasping, the sound echoing loudly in the silent room. She arches her back, whimpering as he licks and kisses and inserts a finger, hooded eyes staring up at her from his position.

 

She can feel her orgasm approaching and it’s taunting her, teasing her towards an explosive end she knows is coming. One of her legs is thrown over his shoulder, the other on the bed, enjoying his hand running over and around it. She digs her heel into his back; hand on her mouth to cover her wanton moans and groans.

 

When he lifts his head from her, she almost cries because she was _close_ , she was _so_ _fucking close_. “Fuck you.” She gasps out, mortified at the frustrated tears that leak from her eyes. She can feel him lean to the side and she can hear the crinkling of a wrapper and when she opens her eyes, she sees him rolling a condom on with precise movements and not for the first time, she thinks that this is man _personified._

 

He leans over her, spreading her legs. He drops his head to her shoulder, hiding his face from her when he enters her in one thrust. It’s not gentle, _he’s_ not gentle, but he’s purposeful and that makes _all_ the difference.

 

His thrusts are controlled and deep. Her arms wrap around his back, her dull nails digging in and her gasps continue to echo. She’s so sensitive, balancing on the thin line of no return. (He’s different than Tom. Where Tom is gentle to a fault, Alejandro is anything but. Where Tom finishes first, Alejandro pauses and adjusts his thrusts, mentally cluing into her gyrating hips.)

 

“God.” She breathes out on a hitch. “Fuck. Oh _God_.” She’s incoherent as she approaches the edge.

 

His thrusts lose some of their control and she almost crows in triumph when she hears him grunt into her shoulder. He’s still not looking her but she’s too far gone to even fucking care. She drops her hands from his back and grips the bed sheets, almost ripping it in her grasps. The mattress is squeaking, the sound of slapping skin is almost grotesque in its vulgarity but she _loves_ it. She _craves_ it.

 

She feels his lips on the place where her neck meets her shoulder and when she orgasms, it’s almost blinding, her body exploding in white-hot pain and pleasure.

 

She yelps when she feels teeth sink into her skin and she explodes again, this time more so in pain than pleasure. “ _Fuck!”_ She exclaims, her body sweaty and thrumming with energy she hasn’t known in _years._

 

She feels him thrust once, twice, thrice and she can see the line of his back arch as he spasms and orgasms after her.

 

He rolls off her and takes off the condom, knotting it and then throwing it in the trash bin next to her bed.

 

The enormity of what happened hits her like a train wreck. Her body is still coming down from its high but her mind is running a mile a minute. She can’t be in his presence much longer, afraid of what else may happen. Instead, she carefully moves her legs to dangle off the side of the bed and then she slides off of it, standing in front of him, unabashed at her nudity. “This never happened.” She breathes, her heart pounding.

 

He’s nodding and pulling on his clothes with speed and accuracy that can only ever come from him. Before he leaves, he stands in front of her, eyes never straying from her face as his fingers trace over his mark and then he turns away, leaving her alone.

 

(She gets in the shower almost immediately after he leaves, letting the hot water trail down her body. After she feels like she burned the first layer of her skin off, Kate steps out of the shower, wrapping the tower around her body and wringing her hair out in the sink. She swipes off the condensation from her sink mirror and stares at the red mark on her neck. She traces her fingers around it, blinking suddenly and rapidly, studying her reflection.

 

A little smile flits across her face. Because, _she_ , Kate Macer, went head-to-head with the Alpha Wolf and she _survived_.) 

* * *

 

She’s right in thinking it wouldn’t be just _one time_. He makes it a habit to break into her apartment, no matter how many locks she has installed on it.

 

He’s careful to not come around on Fridays when Reggie is there.

 

But when he does come over, it’s always animalistic and raw and she’s fucking a _ddicted_.

 

(She finds out that he likes being the dominant one. He likes being on top and dictating the pace in severe silence. But Kate finds that she likes it when she maneuvers them so that _she’s_ on top, grinding down on him, his hands steadying her on her hips and watching her with such intense eyes, that she never knows what he’s thinking. She likes it when she presses her hardened nipples across the black and grey chest hair, back dipping low, hands braced against either side of his head, trapping him like he managed to trap her.)

 

They’re not lovers. Lovers is too romantic of a word. It’s too laden with meaning that she doesn’t even want to think about. They’re fuck-buddies at best and even then that’s a loose term because they’re not _buddies_ at all, just two people using each other’s bodies because they _know_ each other. They _get_ each other. He feels no remorse for anything he’s done and she feels _too_ much remorse and guilt for everything he made her part of.

 

(Because in the end, it always amounts to the same thing: _he made her_.)

 

So, she’s resigned herself to never wanting anything more from him, knowing that she will never _get_ anything more from him and generally, not wanting anything more. She’s okay with this arrangement. It’s not right, but nothing in her world is right anymore.

 

(The thing is, Kate should have known that just as quickly everything changed the first time, everything would change for a second time.) 

* * *

 

She gets a phone call in the middle of her shift and she frowns when she sees an unfamiliar number. “Macer.” She barks into the phone.

 

There is a pause and then a familiar laugh and she can feel the tension leave her body. _“Is that anyway to treat an old friend?”_ Tom teases her through the phone.

 

“Given that you’re my ex-husband, I’m not so sure how I should be treating you.”

 

_“So,”_ he drawls out, _“you_ were _using me for my body.”_

 

There is a small smile on her face. “What do you want?” It’s not unkind, but she could have been a little bit kinder.

 

_“I’m in Phoenix, or well, I was in Phoenix. I traveled up to Sedona. People at the office kept saying I should see it. Then I remembered, my ex-wife lives here now, so I bit the bullet and called. You free tonight?”_

 

Kate’s mind races. She thinks of the last time they were together and she thinks of Alejandro and all the times they’ve been together. “Tom.” She says softly.

 

_“Not asking for anything.”_ He says quickly and she can just picture his wide eyes. _“I just kind of miss my friend, you know?”_

 

“There’s a little Italian place. It’s called _Vito’s.”_ She says slowly. “I finish my shift at six. Meet you there at seven?”

 

_“Deal.”_ He says.

 

She hangs up with a twisted smile on her face and shakes her head. Carla, the administrative assistant stares at her with knowing eyes. Kate looks away. 

* * *

 

It’s not until she gets back to her apartment and out of the shower that she realizes all of her jeans are dirty and really, she shouldn’t care because it’s Tom. But she’s already running late, so she slips on a black floral dress that her mother shoved into her hands one day and converse, snatching her wallet and locking the doors behind her.

 

It’s not hard to find _Vito’s_ and definitely not hard to find Tom. He’s sitting outside in the humid and balmy Arizona weather, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He smiles when he sees her, gets up and places a kiss on her cheek. It’s completely friendly and he keeps his hands to himself and Kate finds herself thinking she could always use another friend. If only to give Reggie a break, every once and a while.

 

He looks at her as soon as they sit back down. “You look good, Kate.” He tells her softly, leaning back in his chair. “Better than last time.”

 

Last time was a fucking _catastrophe_. She knows it. Tom knows it. Her parents know it. Everyone who came in contact with her knows it. She shrugs and takes a sip of her water. “What were you doing in Phoenix?”

 

He lets out a groan. “Fucking client wouldn’t close on a deal, so I had to cajole it out of him.”

 

Kate snorts. “You _hate_ wining and dining clients.”

 

He gives her a look that screams _agony_. “I just find it so fucking pointless. Just sign the fucking paper and get on it with.”

 

_(Sign the fucking paper, Kate.)_

 

He couldn’t have known. She _knows_ that he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t help the shiver that runs up and down her body. Her hair stands up on end and she surveys her surroundings, eyes flitting over cars and over people, trying to see if someone is watching her.

 

“Kate?” Tom looks worried and is leaning forward. “You okay? What happened?”

 

She blinks. “Nothing.” She says. “Nothing.”

 

They’re silent until the waiter comes and they place their order and they fall into more silence when he leaves.

 

“Do you remember the first year of college and we played beer pong at that frat party? The one where the cops busted it and you threw me out the second story window, trying to get away from them?”

 

“I broke your arm.” She says it with a gasp, the memory hitting her so hard. _God,_ they were _so_ drunk that night and Tom didn’t even feel the pain from his broken arm, or his concussion. But they sure as hell felt the lecture from both sets of parents the next day. She lets out a laugh and it’s _loud_. “Oh my God. I’ve tried so hard to forget college.”

 

“Fuck, what was your roommates name? The one you hated so fucking much? Clarissa?”

 

“Clarisse.” Kate laughs, shivering just thinking about her roommate that became the bane of her existence. “She was…she was not…she _hated_ me.”

 

“To be fair, she had a crush on me.” Tom told her with a smile. “She asked me out once, before you and I started dating. I said no and told her I was in love with you.” He gives her a sympathetic smile. “ _Then_ she started to hate you.”

 

Kate leans over and punches him in the shoulder, almost knocking the table over in the process. She laughs again, watching Tom wobble in his chair and it occurs to her that it’s the first time in _years_ she’s laughed _so much_. “I thought she was going to go _Carrie_ on my ass! I had to live with you and your fucking slob of a roommate who always smelled like weed for a fucking year.”

 

Tom guffawed. “You and Trevor were always at each other’s throats.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“You won’t believe it.” He tells her. “He’s a doctor.”

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

“Cardiologist in Los Angeles.”

 

“Holy shit.” Kate lets out a whistle.

 

(They spend the rest of the night reminiscing about college and she lets Tom bemoan about his work, knowing that he has no one else to complain to. Her hairs stay on end the entire night.) 

* * *

 

Her apartment is dark when she walks in and she barely has time to turn the lights on before hands are around her waist and she’s dragged from the hallway to the kitchen and being slammed against the kitchen wall.

 

Her breath is stolen from her when Alejandro assaults her lips with his, opening wide and practically swallowing her whole. She drops her wallet on the table and kisses him back just as eagerly, pressing herself against him in instinct. He stops her from getting to close. One hand resting on her stomach and the other at her throat, fingers curling around her neck and she’s brought back to another city, in another apartment, during the shittiest part of her life and how some guy tried choking the _life out of her_.

 

“Alejandro.” She says, her voice shaking despite her resolute will to not break in front of this man (not again).

 

His eyes are wild as he looks at her. “ _Mine_.” He snarls and she’s reminded of the wolf he is and the wolf she isn’t. He kisses her with brutal strength she always knew he possessed but never used against her. He bites her jawline and neck and she gasps, breath hitching when he sucks on her pulse point particularly hard.

 

She can feel his erection against her legs and he fumbles with his zipper, taking himself in hand and wrapping her legs around his waist. There is no preamble, there is no waiting period, he is savage when he thrusts into her, pushing her panties aside. Her dress is bunched around her waist and his hands are cradling her thighs, slamming into her as if he’s telling her a secret she can’t comprehend.

 

She’s not going to last long. Kate always knew she was fucked up, but she knows, when he puts his hand around her throat again, thumb pressing down on her clavicle that she’s going to fall apart like _never_ before. She can feel it building in the pit of her stomach as she meets him thrust for thrust. Her back is starting to hurt and her head has banged against the wall so many times, she thinks she’s going to give herself a concussion but she just _doesn’t give a fuck anymore_. The thought of release is too sweet for her to think about anything else.

 

He lays his forehead against hers and she’s startled by this. (He never looks at her during sex. His head is always in her shoulders, worrying the skin there, but he’s never actually sought her eyes out.) The hand leaves her neck and grips her chin. “Look at me, Kate. Fuck. Jesus, _look at me_.” When she meets his eyes, she’s taken aback by the intensity. His hips still and an inhumane sound comes from her throat. “If I asked you to, would you laugh for me?”

 

She blinks owlishly at him. There is no laughing here. There has never been laughing here. “Fuck me.”

 

He doesn’t move and Kate is ready to scream. “Would you?”

 

_No,_ she thinks wildly. _No. Because_ this _isn’t what_ this is _._

 

He gives her a smile and it’s twisted and maybe a little bit like hers. “Yeah. I figured.”

 

He starts moving again and she moves her hips in tandem and pleas are falling from her mouth because there is a sort of desperation between them that was _never_ there before and she doesn’t know _where_ it’s coming from but she doesn’t want it to stop. He yanks down the top of her dress and her breasts are greeted by the warm air in the apartment, nipples puckering and she lets out a small squeal when he bends his head and captures a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it and worrying it between his teeth.

 

“ _Fuck_.” She says through gritted teeth, wrapping her legs around his waist tighter and gripping the walls, the table, the chair for support. His mouth leaves her breast, moving up to her neck where his mouth latches on to the space between her neck and shoulder and he bites down _hard_ and Kate howls into the apartment, mind going completely blank. “ _Fuck. Oh God_. Alejandro. _Alejandro_.” She explodes in a kaleidoscope of colors, his name rolling off her tongue like an absolution she will never be granted.

 

“Kate.” He groans, hips stuttering in loss of control. He grunts, pumping into her until he’s sated. “Mine. _Mine. Kate_.”

 

They’re both silent. Her legs are still wrapped around his waist and he brings them down slowly, withdrawing from her and she winces, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath she doesn’t have anymore. “What-”

 

He’s finished tucking himself in his pants and he leans forward, placing a kiss on her lips. “Nice dress.” He says and then he’s walking away from her but not before she can see his trembling hands and taunt shoulders.

 

She slumps against the wall and onto the floor, mind reeling.

 

_(Mine. Mine. Would you laugh for me? Would you? Nice dress.)_

 

She feels _sick_. She feels so fucking sick as she scrambles for her wallet and her phone, finding the number and hitting dial. And _oh God_ , what did she just do?

 

Tom answers on the second ring. _“Can’t get enough of me?”_

 

“You need to leave.” She tells him. “Now. Call your travel agent and tell him or her or whoever that you need the redeye out of here.”

 

_“Kate?”_ He asks, his voice worried. “ _What’s wrong? Are you okay?”_

 

Is she _okay_? She wants to laugh until she cries. _No_. She’s _not okay_. She’s _nowhere near okay,_ because the man she’s fucking the man who once _shot_ her, put a fucking _gun_ underneath her chin, made her sign her morals and soul away and in return she allows him free access to her body like a cheap whore. 

 

She knew her hairs were on end the entire evening for a fucking reason and she feels _so fucking stupid._

 

He may not do anything. Tom is no one to him but Kate isn’t risking the chance because she already has too many dead people on her conscience to add Tom in there.

 

“You once asked me if there was a guy.”

 

She can almost see him frown but she hears rustling of clothes and she knows he’s throwing his belongings in his suitcase. “ _Don’t really think that’s how I put it but okay.”_ There is a pause. “ _Is he…Kate does he…”_ He doesn’t finish the sentence

 

( _Who is he?)_

 

“No.” She answers quickly. It’s a half-truth, which she thinks is better than an outright lie. “No. He’s…he’s different…I just…you need to go.” _Because I don’t know what he’s capable of doing._ Except she _does_ know what he’s capable of doing. She’s seen it firsthand. “Message me as soon as you’re in Buffalo.”

 

(She doesn’t sleep, waiting for his message and she finds she can breathe a little bit easier when her phone rings and Tom is on the other line. “ _I just landed.”_ He says. _“Look, Kate, I don’t know what you’re involved in but don’t let them kill you even more, okay?_

 

It’s sweet that he still cares.

 

He shouldn’t.) 

* * *

 

She doesn’t have work the next day, so she finally crawls into bed when the sun is high in sky and she’s sure that Tom is still alive and not dead because of her and her strange, indefinable relationship, or lack of relationship (she doesn’t what they are or even if they are anything other than a distraction for each other), with Alejandro.

 

When she wakes up, the sun is starting to set and her bed is vibrating. She reaches towards her phone and answers it, groggily saying, “Macer.”

 

“ _Kate.”_ Her mothers breathes a breath of relief.

 

“Mom?” Kate asks, turning on her back and rubbing her eyes, laying an arm over them. “Everything okay?”

 

_“Just fine.”_ Her mother replies. “ _You’ll never guess who your father and I bumped into at the grocery.”_

 

It could be a hundred different people and none of them Kate would ever care about. Her mother does this sometimes. She’ll call her in a frenzy over something someone said or bumping into an old classmate of Kate’s, ready for gossip that Kate has no interest in but humors her anyways. “Who?”

 

_“Tom.”_

 

Kate blinks and sits up, her throat dry and the stench of morning’s breath (or is it night’s breath? Day breath? When was the last time she brushed her teeth?) overwhelming her. “Did you?” Kate asks. “That’s nice.”

 

Her mother is silent on the other end for a few moments longer than Kate is comfortable with. “ _He said some interesting things. Most notably, how I should check up on you because he’s worried about your_ boyfriend _.”_

 

“Mom…” Kate trails off, palming her forehead. And here she was worried about Alejandro getting to him. _She’s_ going to fucking _kill_ Tom. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

 

And he doesn’t. No one does. Fuck, _she_ doesn’t even know.

 

_“Really?”_ Her mother is almost hysterical. “ _Because whenever I see you, you look drained. You look dead. You can say whatever you want but if he, whoever he is, is hurting you, I want to know. I want you to come home. Kate, come home.”_

 

“Mom.” Kate snaps, “I’m not dating anyone. Trust me,” she laughs and it’s hollow and bitter, “I’m not dating anyone.”

 

_“So, Tom was lying?”_

 

Kate takes a deep breath. “There is a…co-worker…he’s…it’s not…it’s complicated.”

 

_“Kate,”_ Her mother’s voice is strained and so worried. _“What’s going on with you? What’s happening?”_

 

The thing is, Kate doesn’t _know_ what’s wrong with her and if she _allows_ herself to name everything that _is_ wrong with her, she’s afraid the list will be so long, it’ll tear her entire being into a thousand splintered pieces. Maybe she’s become jaded. Maybe she’s become apathetic. Maybe she’s become something else entirely. She could be a lot of things. (One thing is for certain; she knows she’s not a wolf.)

 

_(You are not a wolf, and this is the land of wolves now.)_

 

“There are some things I can’t tell you, mom.” Kate answers softly. It’s the truth, if only in half a form. She can’t stand for her mother to see how weak and broken she’s _actually_ become.

 

_“Are you safe?”_ Her mother demands an answer.

 

Kate sighs and stares out her bedroom door, into the kitchen, burning a hole at the wall where Alejandro pinned her against last night. (Was it just last night? It feels like forever ago.) She touches the mark on her neck, wincing as it stings and throbs. “As safe as I can be.”

 

She can tell that her mother wants to argue, she can almost imagine her mother gripping the kitchen counter until her knuckles become white and she knows without a doubt that her father is standing right next to her mother, hearing every single word being exchanged. They’re silent and Kate turns her head to stare at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her mother breathing.

 

(Her parents still care about her. They still worry about her. They still love her.

 

They shouldn’t.) 

* * *

 

She doesn’t bother changing into her t-shirt, as soon as she hangs up from her mother’s phone call, she turns on her side, back facing the rest of the apartment and closes her eyes, willing all the images of Alejandro away.

 

It’s not long before she falls asleep.

 

It’s also not long before she’s woken up again.

 

She jolts awake, disoriented and heart pounding when she feels another presence in her room. She knows who it is from the scent of his cologne. She lets out a groan and turns her head into her pillow, thinking she’s just imagining him.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She mumbles.

 

She feels her bed dip and he leans against her form, only slightly but Kate feels the weight of him on her and it’s more comforting than it should be.

 

He doesn’t answer.

 

“Would you have killed him?” She asks, already knowing the answer but waiting for him to confirm or deny.

 

He doesn’t say anything and her heart drops to her stomach.

 

“I am not a wolf.” She reminds him, moving herself into a sitting position, draping her legs over the bed until her feet are planted on the hardwood.

 

“No.” He says, “but you’re something else.” He gives her a side-eye glance. “Though I’m not quite sure what.”

 

There is something so heavy in her chest as she leans forward, her face moving towards his, her lips a hair’s breadth apart from his. There is something so fucking damning in the way he kisses her so completely, so entirely, consuming her until she doesn’t know where she begins and he ends.

 

They fall into the same pattern as before, they fuck and they’re nothing but distractions for one another.

 

(Except, they’re not, not really, because something has changed between them, something Kate isn’t quite willing to name and something Alejandro will never acknowledge. Kate would laugh herself hoarse if she weren’t too busy gasping out his name.)

 

“You,” he says and it’s quiet, his eyes boring into hers as he brings over the edge again and again and _again,_ “are mine.” This is the only confession her will ever give her and it is born out of a desperation so visceral, it leaves her breathless

 

Of course she is. Because he made her and Kate has always, always, followed the rules laid out for her.

 

(There is a special spot reserved in the deepest pit of hell for people like them.) 

* * *

 

Right after he leaves, she stumbles to the bathroom and vomits as soon as she tries to take a deep breath.

 

She still gets sick every time he leaves but she can’t stop it. She can’t stop _him_ and she doesn’t think she wants to. _And isn’t that the most fucking depressing thing_? She thinks desperately, as she stands underneath the hot water, she doesn’t want to stay but she knows she _can’t_ leave, she knows she doesn’t _want_ to leave.

 

So, she’s his and in a twisted way, he’s hers, bound together by death and blood.

 

In the distance, she hears wolves howl. ( _This is a land of wolves now.)_ She is _not_ a wolf, she concedes, but she is something else. She traces the shape of the mark Alejandro left her with some twisted reverence.

 

She wraps a towel around her body and makes her way to her room, her still wet feet, squelching on the floor. She reaches into her bedside drawer and grabs her gun, making sure it’s loaded and the safety is off, cocking the gun and sitting down on her bed, waiting for something, anything to remind her that she’s human.

 

She has been marked by the wolf and she knows without a doubt that more wolves will hunt her, desperate to tear herself apart. By her own violation, Kate has made herself into a prime target by going on that job and signing her name on that paper.

 

She will be prepared; she refuses to be defenseless anymore. Because while she is not a wolf and does not belong in this wolf land, she is something else and that _has_ to be worth something.

 

The wolves howl again, this time closer and they're eerie in their sound, yet comforting in a way she’s not willing to recognize. And in her mind’s eye, she can almost hear his voice, lost in a trance of a dream that has long ago melded into her reality. _Do you hear them? The wolves? They’re coming and they’re coming for you._

 

( _Let_ them come because she’ll be ready, unlike last time, she _will_ be ready and Kate _will_ fight back.)

 

_This is the beginning of the end,_ she thinks, as she drops the towel and shrugs on her t-shirt, and making her way to the window, gun still in hand.

 

(She will kill these wolves. Every last one of them.

 

Because in the end, Alejandro _made_ her. He _marked_ her and Kate has always been the perfect little soldier.)

 


End file.
